


The Night Before a New Life Begins

by jncar



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Smut, spoilers for episode 3x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jncar/pseuds/jncar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In spite of her confused emotions, Emma seizes the chance to make the most of her last night before assuming the mantle of savior once again. Loosely inspired by spoiler photos for 3x12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Before a New Life Begins

**Author's Note:**

> I intended to write a short and simple bit of smut, but my brain wouldn't let me, so this is a little smut wrapped in a lot of introspection and emotion.

Emma splashed her face at the sink one last time, washing the final traces of her cleanser away before turning off the faucet and patting her face dry with her towel. She tried to lose herself in those mundane, everyday tasks. To pretend that it was just another night ending just another day. To savor the simple, happy life she'd been living for just a few moments longer.

But her mind wouldn't shut down so easily. Today her life had changed. It hadn't been a dream. The man sleeping on her couch would still be there if she looked out into her family room. And she'd have to leave her home tomorrow, with no promise of ever coming back.

She leaned against her counter and stared at her face in the mirror. Yesterday she would have seen the same person she saw everyday—Emma Swan, the determined bail bonds person, the always-tired-but-too-happy-to-complain woman, the homework helper, the video game monitor, the hopeful online-dater, the single mother committed to making the best possible life for her son. Just Emma.

Tonight, however, she saw a savior. A lost girl. A woman with magic. The daughter of a princess and her prince.

Tomorrow she'd have to get in her car and go back to Maine to enact the spell Regina had sent to her. To save everyone. To find her family all over again.

Part of her wanted to be terrified. Part of her wanted to be overwhelmed. Part of her wanted to be happy beyond all imagining. And part of her wanted to curse them all for taking this simple peaceful life away from her and drawing her back into that insanity.

But she wouldn't be angry. Not for long, anyway. She loved them too much for that. And even through her mind full of false memories, and a year's worth of true ones, something had still felt not-quite-right. There had been all the vivid dreams that she now recognized as memories trying to make their way to the surface. All the odd moments of déjà vu when reading a book or watching a movie, but not as if she'd read or watched them before—as if she'd lived them. And, in spite of her happiness with Henry, there had been a dull ache in the background of her life. Something had been missing.

It had all come to a head yesterday morning when a handsome but crazy stranger had banged on her door and forced a kiss onto her lips. A kiss that had made all those dreams seem more real than anything else in her life.

But he wasn't a stranger at all. He was her pirate—her Hook.

Emma took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing on all the new-old memories that had risen since she drank the potion this afternoon and now competed for her attention.

Most of them were of Mary Margaret, and Henry, and David, and all her other friends in Storybrooke. But Hook was there, too.

It was strange how her memories of him could feel like dreams and yet so potently real and vivid all at once.

He was the man who had followed her through three realms. Who fought her, then fought himself, and finally fought only to help. The man who'd flirted and smirked and teased, but who also guided and guarded and comforted. The man who'd returned to his own personal hell because helping her and Henry was the right thing to do, and he wasn't such a villain after all. The man who'd never lied to her—not since their first meeting. Not when he told her Neal was alive. Not when he told her he never believed he could move on from his first love until he met her. Not when he told her she'd succeed in rescuing her son. Not when he told her that not a day would pass when he wouldn't think of her. And not when he'd accosted her on the street, and at a bar, and at the park, determined to bring her memories back.

He'd succeeded.

Even with the weight of all her new responsibilities settling onto her shoulders—when she should be thinking about her family, and spells and curses and taking up the mantle of the savior again—all she could think about was the fact that he also hadn't been lying when he told her he'd win her heart. Or when, just yesterday morning, he'd told her that he'd hoped that she felt the same way he did.

Emma knew all the stories about the power of True Love's Kiss. Hell, she'd witnessed it happening—she'd even _done_ it. Yet with all her years of false memories still jumbled up with the true ones, she had a hard time believing it.

But Hook believed. He'd believed so much that he found a way back to her when no such way was supposed to exist. He hadn't given up on her. He'd fought his way to her, determined to bring her back to her family—to make her a savior once again. 

And when he'd seen her yesterday morning, he'd dived in head first, taking his long shot.

That's how much he believed.

Out of all the things she had to face with her newly restored memories, this was the one that ought to scare her the most. Yet every time she tried to work up an appropriate level of anxiety, it fell flat.

Nothing about Hook's feelings for her worried her. In fact, they were the one thing that felt comfortable and right about this whole situation.

The "why" behind that level of comfort seemed like a pretty crucial thing, but it was also something so complicated that she simply didn't have time to figure it out right now. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to. Everything was happening so fast. She'd only just found herself again, and tomorrow she'd have to start a whole new life—or at least take back up the one she'd left behind.

Still, a part of her wanted to see him. To talk to him, or… something else.

Emma sucked on her bottom lip and wondered if she could think of a good excuse to go out into the family room. It was _her_ apartment—she should feel free to go wherever she damn well pleased.

But going out there to face him, as much as it excited her and as much as she just wanted to be close to him while things were still peaceful and quiet, meant she'd have to face her feelings and start to deal with them. His feelings for her were clear as day, but her feelings for him—well, that was still the puzzle she hadn't finished putting together. She'd never had the time. 

Emma wandered toward her bed, but she knew she wasn't ready to sleep. She sat on the edge of the bed and tapped her fingers on the quilt.

He was _right out there_. All she had to do was open the door.

Standing up, she reached into a storage trunk at the foot of her bed and pulled out another blanket. That was as good an excuse as any.

Before she could lose her nerve she strode to her door and pushed it open, stepping out into the family room.

The rumpled blanket on one end of the couch revealed it to be empty, and her eyes turned to the kitchen.

Under a single dim light over the sink Hook stood, his back to her, drinking a glass of water.

He'd shed his customary black attire, and wore nothing but some thin drawstring shorts that must be the Enchanted Forest equivalent of boxers.

Emma found herself taking a step toward him as her eyes took in the sight of his lean body. The taught muscles of an active life defined his torso and arms, with a fuzz of dark hair visible in a few patches on his back. She smiled and almost laughed at the sight of one odd-shaped patch of hair on his left shoulder that broke the symmetry of his form. She wondered what it would be like to play with that little patch—to tug on it with her fingers as her other hand explored the rest of him.

She shook her head. She really couldn't be thinking that way. Not when there was so much to face tomorrow. Now was no time to get caught up in—

Hook slowly turned to look at her, a knowing smirk on his face. "Enjoying the view, love?" He took a few steps toward her, spreading his arms as if to put himself on display.

Emma swallowed hard. Yeah. She was enjoying it. The view from the front was even better than from behind, with his pendants standing out against his completely bare chest and his shorts sagging low over his hips to reveal his firm stomach, a trail of hair beneath his naval leading enticingly downward.

When he spoke again she jerked her eyes up to his face and tried to hide the fact that she'd been licking her lips by shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

"You didn't really think I slept in my leather, did you?" he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

He took another step toward her, and she noticed for the first time that he wasn't wearing his hook. The entire cuff that held it in place lay quietly on the coffee table, and the sight of his bare arm took her aback. She hadn't seen him without his cuff since his brief stay at the Storybrooke hospital, and she wondered how much of his current bravado was put on to compensate for the vulnerability he must be feeling in this stripped down state.

"Of course I didn't," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Hook took a step closer. "So you're admitting you've pictured me like this?" The grin that accompanied his flirtatious banter stirred up all the same feelings that it had back in Neverland, a year ago. He still had a way of getting under her skin like no one else.

"You wish," she said, not quite containing the smile that made its way onto her face. "Look—it's a chilly night. I just thought you might want a second blanket." She moved a few paces closer to him, keeping her eyes firmly on his face and extending the blanket towards him.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Swan," he said, closing the distance between them. He grasped the blanket in his good hand, making sure to brush his fingers along her forearm in the process, and then pulled it toward his chest, cradling it against him with his damaged arm. It was the sort of move he must have practiced for decades to make it look so effortless.

The teasing edge vanished from his voice when he held her eyes and said, softly, "Thank you."

Though his flirting had always been enough to send a thrill through her whole body, his sincerity was what struck her right in her heart. In Neverland—and even before—he'd proven that he was willing to open himself to her. To be vulnerable with her in way few other people ever had.

"You're welcome," she replied, allowing her eyes to drift over his exposed skin one last time.

At this closer distance she could see several long, pale scars tracing their way across his flesh, beneath the camouflage of his hair.

Her scars were hidden behind her guarded face and warm pajamas, while his were laid bare for her to see. He trusted her not to exploit his weaknesses, just like he believed in her enough to break every law of magic to find her. The only other person who had ever believed in her that much was Henry. It was enough to make her stomach turn a few flips while he held her gaze.

Emma cleared her throat. "It's late and we need to get an early start. I should head to bed."

Hook took a few slow steps back, nodding. "Good night, Swan."

"Good night, Hook."

After closing her bedroom door behind her, Emma took a deep breath to clear her head. It didn't help, much.

She lay down and pulled her covers snug around her chest. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut off the clamoring memories dancing around her head, and tried to tune out the rising warmth between her legs. Now was hardly the time to give into lust.

Or was it?

Her mind played over her memory of her last real conversation with her father, before saying goodbye. He'd urged her to make the most of every moment—to savor the good moments as they came, and to treasure them.

She hadn't let herself listen, at the time. She'd convinced herself that saviors were too busy to have "moments." But wasn't she having one right now?

Wasn't a good moment out there lying on her couch, just waiting for her to make the most of it?

She rubbed her hands over her face and kicked her feet in jittery frustration.

Why couldn't it have been David or Mary Margaret or even Regina who came to find her? Then this would be simple. She'd be the savior, and get moving to do whatever the savior had to do.

But with Hook, she never felt like just the savior. With him, she could be Emma, too. And while the savior in her wasn't confused, Emma sure as hell was.

The savior had always known what was wrong and what was right. She'd never hesitated to take action or risk her safety or put the needs of others ahead of her own. She'd never been afraid of making sacrifices. And tomorrow, that's exactly what she would do. But tonight—just for tonight—couldn't she be plain old Emma for a little longer? Couldn't she be selfish and have something that was just for her?

Couldn't she be the same Emma who, when she'd heard the words "There's not a day that will go by when I won't think of you," had replied simply, "Good," but had really meant that she'd be thinking of him, too? He'd kept his end of the bargain, but she hadn't kept hers. She'd never been given the chance.

But she had tonight. 

That afternoon one year ago, all the goodbyes had been difficult. Everything had been so rushed and frantic that she hadn't had time to say the things she needed to say or savor the moments they way they deserved, but in retrospect her farewell to Hook had been the hardest. She'd had most of a year to get to know her dear new friends and family—to store up good memories and treasure them away. Even saying goodbye, she'd known what she was to them and they to her, and, at the time, she'd believed that she'd always have that sure knowledge and memory to give her strength and comfort in her times of loneliness. Hook, on the other hand, had never had a chance to become more than a tantalizing possibility—a possibility that she'd only just begun to realize she truly wanted to explore. She'd known, as he'd met her eyes with his bittersweet smile before walking away, that she'd always regret never having the chance to try for something more.

Then, when Regina gave her that final, crushing blow, it had hurt all the more. It had ached that she'd be losing all memory of the love she'd only just found, but it had cut like a knife that she'd be losing all hope of that last lingering possibility for love that she hadn't wanted to give up on. 

Yet tonight that possibility was here again, out there, lying on her couch. If the danger she'd be facing soon was as great as Hook described, tonight might be all they'd ever get.

She stared at her ceiling in the darkness, her heart pounding a sharp staccato in her chest. Tonight, with all her true memories mingling with the false, she knew more than ever before the steep cost of passing up an opportunity for love. And, thanks to Regina's gift, she also knew the rare and wonderful power of a second chance. If she let this moment pass her by, she'd regret it for the rest of her life, however long or short that might be.

She might not have a grip on all her feelings for Hook, but there was one thing she knew for certain—she didn't want to miss this chance. Not again.

Emma took a deep breath. "Okay," she whispered to herself, "now or never."

Before she could second guess her way out of it she sat up, pushing off her blankets, and swung her feet onto the smooth, cool floor. The slight chill was enough to shock her even further into the perilous here-and-now, but it wasn't enough to deter her.

From the speed with which Hook sat up when she emerged from her room, she could tell that he'd been no more asleep than she had been. There must have been a strange look in her eyes when she approached the couch, because he raised his eyebrows and asked, "Swan—is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing," said replied in a voice just above a whisper and then sat down beside him, close enough for their knees to touch.

Even in the dim light of the city gleaming through her windows she could see the way his eyes widened and the corners of his lips curved upward in a faint yet hopeful smile. "What do you have need of, milady?"

What indeed? Emma's heart was in her throat as she quickly thought through the long list of potential answers to that question. _Time to talk. A chance to exchange stories of the past year. Your favorite childhood memories. To know more about your brother. Tales of your voyages. A chance to teach you to play poker. A few good, romantic dates_ (God, the way he could spin a swoon-worthy line was enough to make her knees weak. She could hardly imagine what he'd manage to accomplish with a whole date in which to charm her). _Someone to tell all my secrets to. A chance to see what you'd look like in a good pair of jeans._

But there was no time. No time for any of it.

All they had was tonight.

"I just … I …" With too many options and too little time she did the one thing she'd been wanting to do since she brought him back to her apartment tonight. The one thing she knew they'd have time for.

She placed her hand on his cheek and leaned in to brush her lips against his.

The way his breath caught in his throat made her heart do a few flips, and the way he so quickly leaned into the kiss, catching her hair in his hand to gently cradle her head, made the heat between her legs flare up into a fiery blaze.

The kiss was slow and soft, as if both of them were afraid to push too hard or demand too much. Her nostrils filled with the scent of leather and salt and she tasted the last traces of the minty toothpaste she'd leant him when his lips parted just enough for her to graze his teeth with the tip of her tongue.

With a contended sigh Hook pulled back just a little, sliding his hand forward to cradle her cheek. He gazed at her like a man in the midst of a glorious vision, and Emma couldn't stop herself from smiling.

"You've no idea how many nights I dreamed of this," he said in a breathless voice.

"I'd guess around three-hundred and sixty five," she replied in a happy whisper.

The smile fell from his eyes a little. "Three-hundred and seventy one. I counted each and every one of them."

Emma's throat felt tight, and she ran her hands over his stubbled cheeks to reassure herself that this man was really here, in front of her, saying these things and feeling this way. This man who cared about her enough to count nearly four-hundred days while waiting to see her again. No one had ever cared about her like this before (at least, no one who remembered her). Her voice shook a little, though she tried to keep it light. "I guess three-hundred and seventy two was your lucky number."

His grin brightened again. "It's one I intended to remember." Then he leaned in to capture her lips once more.

There was no holding back this time. They opened their mouths to each other eagerly—passionately. 

She let her hands roam over his body, sliding down his back and across his chest and tangling in his hair. She smiled against his lips as she finally got her fingers into that odd patch on the back of his left shoulder, and she gasped when he trailed his lips down her jaw line and onto her neck while he wrapped his damaged arm behind her back, pulling her close. The feeling of that shortened arm cradling her sent a thrill through her like nothing else because it was so utterly, uniquely _Hook_. She'd never be able to pretend that she was in anyone else's arms but his—and at the moment she felt pretty certain she'd never want to.

Back in Neverland, every time her thoughts had strayed to wondering what it would be like to be with Hook—really _be_ with him—she'd pulled them back immediately to focus on the mission. But during that one night back in Storybrooke, as she lay restlessly awake in her bed, her mind had drifted back and forth between her continuing worries for Henry and thinking about Hook.

She'd wanted him, just as he'd told her she would. She hadn't wanted to give his hubris the satisfaction of knowing how completely he'd won her over in their scant week together in Neverland. But back then she'd thought they'd have time.

By now she knew better. There was never enough time. Every moment mattered.

Without warning she shifted her body, swinging her leg to straddle his lap. He moaned loudly as she ground against his erection.

She whisper-giggled at the dazed and hungry look on his face and hissed, "Shush. We can't wake Henry."

He swallowed and nodded before pulling her in for another searing kiss. The heat in her core continued to rise as his length rubbed against her through her flannel pajama pants. God, she wanted to feel her skin against his.

In a more normal life she would have wanted three or four dates before getting to this point. In a more normal life her parents would have wanted her to have a proper courtship. But she was a savior and he was a pirate and there would never, ever be anything normal about what they had.

So to hell with it.

She pulled back from his kiss, letting her teeth drag along his bottom lip before releasing him, and met his eyes with a smile before dropping her hands to the buttons on her pajama top. The way his breath hitched as more and more of her skin became visible made her grin even broader. She loved what she could do to him with such a simple gesture.

Before she reached her bottom few buttons, his hand reached forward to rest over hers, stopping her progress.

"Are you sure about this, Emma? I didn't come here to find you with any expectation of such a reward. So if you're doing this out of gratitude, or some sense of obligation—"

"Hey," she couldn't keep a hard edge out of her voice, even in a whisper, "I would _never_ do this out of a sense of obligation. And I'm not just doing it because I'm grateful. I'm doing it because I want to."

She could see his face fluctuate through a series of emotions as the full meaning of her words hit him—from surprise, to wonder, to joy. The bright hopeful grin on his face made him look ten years younger, and Emma felt a pang of regret that she hadn't trusted him sooner. She would've seen this smile a long time ago. It certainly felt like something he'd saved up just for her.

"Well, in that case …" he whispered, trailing off suggestively.

"In that case," she grinned back at him, and then leaned in for another brief but tender kiss before pulling back to finish off her buttons.

She let the pajama top slide off of her shoulders, and Hook stared at her with dark eyes, a heady mix of wonder and lust marking his face. 

"You are," he whispered, "without a doubt the most beautiful sight I've ever laid eyes on."

Emma shivered as he wound his shortened arm around her back, pressed against her bare skin, and they shared another lingering, tender kiss. Then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he grinned at her before dipping his head to draw one of her nipples between his lips. She gasped and clenched her teeth together to stifle the urge to moan as he lavished his attention first on one breast, and then on the other, his stubble leaving an intoxicating burn as he moved across her chest.

If asked, Emma never could have pinpointed the exact moment her body started wanting Hook—somewhere between climbing a beanstalk and seeing the Jolly Roger return to port exactly when she needed it. When her heart and mind started wanting him was even harder to nail down. Neverland had only been a week but it had felt like an eternity.

Now, in his arms, his hot skin pressing against hers, his hungry lips devouring every inch of her, none of their complicated history seemed to matter. All that mattered was that she wanted him, more than she'd ever wanted any other man, and tonight she would have him. 

This felt more real and right than anything else had since she drank that potion and found herself again.

"Should we move this to your bedchamber?" he whispered into the curve of her neck as he tugged at the waistband of her pants.

Emma swallowed another moan and shook her head. "Can't. My bed is against the wall adjoining Henry's room."

"So this is the place," he said, lifting his head to smile at her. "No worries. I've navigated tighter straits before this."

She couldn't stop smiling, her chest shaking with muffled laughter as he lifted her from his lap and laid her back against the arm of the couch. She raised her hips to let him finishing tugging her pants and panties off to toss them to the floor.

With deliberate slowness he used his teeth to pull the first of his rings off of his finger and tossed it to the coffee table. "Wouldn't want these to leave any bruises—unless that's what the lady likes?"

Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Not tonight."

He quickly pulled off the other two rings before bending over her and sliding his hand between her legs. 

Emma gasped and shuddered when his fingers reached her core, and she gripped his hair, dragging him down to smother her moans with another kiss.

Though she'd been on more than half-a-dozen first dates over the past year, none of them made it to date number two—light years from something like _this_. It had been so agonizingly long since she'd been with someone—the way his hand was sending jolts of electricity through her whole body she knew she wouldn't last long.

His fingers moved inside her as he continued to massage her sensitive nub with his thumb, and she shuddered and arched her body against him as the growing pressure threatened to overwhelm her.

"Gods, Emma," he whispered between kisses, "I missed you so much."

His plaintive confession pushed her over the edge, her whole body shaking with the release. She bit down on his shoulder to stifle her urge to cry out, and held him close as the aftershocks continued to surge through her.

"I missed you, too," she whispered into his ear, once she regained the power of speech. "I knew I was missing something, I just didn't know what. But I know now. It was you."

He raised his head to stare down at her with speechless wonder, and Emma wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh to or to cry. She felt utterly exposed and vulnerable, as if she laid not merely her body but her whole heart and soul bare for him to see. It was too much—she wasn't ready for this—she'd been too carried away. 

Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath, still feeling his erection pressed up against her leg. She might not be able to figure out the depths of her heart, tonight, but _that_ she could handle. "I'm not done with you yet," she whispered, opening her eyes and pushing him back into a sitting position.

She moved quickly, straddling him and lowering herself onto his length before he had time to utter a word. He sucked in a harsh breath, his eyes wide and eager.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she hovered, perfectly still, for just a moment, savoring the way he filled her. God, this felt so right.

She didn't want to think about true love, or whatever the hell else this might turn out to be. Not now. The savior in her couldn't indulge in things like love. Not when they were about to go charging into danger. Not when all they had was tonight.

Right now, all she wanted to think about was how amazing it felt to have him inside of her.

With another slow, deep breath, she began to rock. 

She opened her eyes to watch him come undone beneath her. It was beautiful.

The pressure began to build within her again with the way their bodies rubbed against each other—the way he hit her in just the right spot every time she moved—the way his hand gripped her hip—the way he could barely contain his strangled groans—the way he looked at her like he was seeing the sun for the first time in a year.

She knew he was on the verge when he fisted his fingers in her hair and buried his face in the curve of her neck to muffle his choked moan as he found release. Emma rode the wave with him, grinding her hips against him to eke out every last moment of pleasure.

His rough whisper, almost too quiet to hear, broke through her haze of pleasure. "I love you, Emma. Gods, I love you."

She drew in a slow, shaky breath, blinking her eyes at the dark kitchen in front of her.

There it was—the words she'd been trying so hard not to think about.

She'd known. How could she _not_ know after all he'd done to find her? It was written in his every word and action.

Of course she'd known.

But this was what she'd been afraid to face when she fretted in her room before coming out. Emma wanted time to figure this out, but the savior had no time to spare.

Instead she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his shoulder, breathing in and out, hoping the moment would pass so that she wouldn't have to dissect emotions she hadn't come to grips with, yet.

But Hook must have sensed something in the way she went still and quiet so suddenly.

He stroked her hair gently, and she felt, rather than saw, him raise his head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have said that. I know that's not what you were looking for, tonight. I’m sorry."

She lifted her head with a jerk and a single word spilled from her mouth, driven more by instinct than by any rational thought. "No," she said in a loud whisper.

He held her gaze, his forehead furrowed in confusion. "Emma?"

She took a few breaths, trying to process. She might not be ready to make sense of everything between them, yet, but hearing his apology had felt nothing but wrong. She swallowed the lump in her throat before speaking. "Don't apologize for loving me. I never want to hear you apologize for loving me enough to come back to me."

His eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and she could see his Adam's apple bob as he struggled for words.

Emma spoke again. "I'm glad you came. I'm glad you understood me enough to know that I'd rather face whatever crap is about to come over from the Enchanted Forest than to hold onto that fake life, no matter how happy it was. Thank you. Thank you for finding me."

His eyes had never looked more earnest than when he replied, "I'd find you a thousand more times, if I had to."

Emma smiled softly and rested a palm against his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "I know," she whispered.

He kissed her slowly—softly—and then rested his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes and relaxed into his embrace.

It hadn't been an admission of love. She couldn't give that. Not tonight. Maybe someday, if she ever had the time to see where this thing would take them.

But it had been an acceptance. She was ready to let him love her. She wanted it. In some ways, she was beginning to think that she needed it.

She sank deeper into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, and savored the feeling of rising and falling with his breath. It had been years since she felt this safe.

After a few quiet, peaceful minutes, she could feel the heaviness of sleep creeping in.

She raised her head and shook it a little. "Sorry. I have to get back to my room. We can't let Henry find us like this."

Hook nodded. "I understand."

She pried herself from his lap, her body tensing as the chill air settled around her. It took her just a moment to pull her pants on and shrug back into her top, while Hook pulled a blanket over his lap.

With a reluctant sigh she stood. A part of her wished she could stay in his arms all night, but she really wasn't ready to have that conversation with her son. She smiled down at Hook as she backed away.

He held her gaze and, with a wry smile, broke the silence with a soft question, "Emma—was this… just a—a one time thing?"

She winced at the sound of her own words coming back to haunt her, and lightly bit her bottom lip. There was no way to answer but the truth. "I don't know."

Her heart ached at the way the light went out of his eyes, his smile fading into something bittersweet.

No. She couldn't leave it like that.

"I hope it's not," she said, wanting him to hear the honesty in her voice.

His eyes met hers again, a new hope brightening his expression.

She smiled, knowing that she'd found the truth she'd been dancing around all night. "I hope we have time. I hope that in spite of whatever craziness we're about to drive into, we'll still find a way to give this thing between us a real try. That's what I want."

"As do I." The pure joy in his eyes made her heart warm in her chest.

Even if tonight was all they ever got, she'd always have this moment. 

This was one worth treasuring.

She met his eyes and whispered a single word. "Good."


End file.
